In case you were Wondering, Rhiannon does ring like a bell in the night

Update to The Wonder of Rhiannon:

I didn’t want to say a word until the surgery was over, but now it’s done. I’ve met with the surgeon who is pleased and hopeful a full recovery is eminent.

“There’s no reason she won’t live a normal life now,” she told me, then smiled and walked out of the consult room like she hadn't just delivered a miracle.

I sobbed. A dam crumbled and sadness pent up for nearly three years of watching my daughter suffer poured out. It was graceful at first and then with abandon.

But not for long before I pulled myself together and went down to postop and found my girl Rhiannon in high spirits true to the last verse of Natalie Merchant's Wonder. Fate finally smiled on her:

And destiny laughed as she came to my cradle

Know this child will be able

Laughed as she came to my mother

Know this child will notsuffer

Laughed as my body she lifted

Know this child will be gifted

With love, with patience and with faith

She'll make her way, she'll make her way

And then, for the first time in years she began making concrete plans for the future. They look like this: "Shop for a hot looking dress. Get massage - a Swedish massage. Go see my friends." 

No excuses friends, come get your girl. Take her shopping, go to a movie, get a mani pedi. It's time she started making her way. Time she started living. 

An open letter to Ben Affleck

Dear Ben Affleck:

No need to apologize for the bad behavior of past generations. Please, we know who you are. If you were a bigot TMZ would have told us that a long time ago.  

As a member of an American Indian tribe that lost ancestors to slavery during pre-colonial and colonial years, followed by generations of cultural genocide and our lands taken from under us, hardly a day passes that I don't regret the sins committed against my people, but I don't hold their descendants responsible for acts they had no part in. 

In fact, in 2009 I was invited to be the keynote speaker at the annual meeting of the Massachusetts Mayflower Descendants society. The speech was long and quite honestly I feared I wouldn't get through it without having food thrown at me as I recounted the devastation suffered by the Wampanoag at the hands of the colonists.

I was talking to a room full of people potentially burdened with nearly 400 years of white guilt. 

Their ancestors brought disease, broken promises, and piety that pitied my ancestors as savages then tried to convert them. As a final insult all those Wampanoag who refused to assimilate or were otherwise deemed a threat to the colonies were packed aboard ships and sold into slavery.

But my salient point before finishing my speech that was followed by a standing ovation went something like this:

I do not hold any of you accountable for the sins of your ancestors. I hold you accountable for the future. 

Which is exactly what I would say to you.

Just the fact that you were embarrassed enough at the discovery of your forebear's connection to slavery to want it squashed shows that your family has evolved to a much higher moral ground. And now that it's out there, just as you said, it contributes to the ongoing discussion about the roots of racism and a period in history that we should never forget lest we be doomed to repeat. 

Carry on Ben Affleck. It's not your fault. Just raise your kids to be the next generation of change.

As the kaleidoscope turns . . .

There is an upside to Alzheimer’s you wouldn't realize unless you live with someone who has the disease. My mother jumps in an out of the last century like some people click through cable channels. Some days she is still in high school and expecting a visit from her boyfriend Rico, other days she is singing a song she learned in her grade school choir.

She doesn’t recognize a portrait of my father in the foyer that was taken when he was in his 60s but if I show her a picture of him in his army uniform she knows exactly who he is. You just need to meet her where she is, or as I recently learned, where she might have been.

The other day a social worker came to visit. It was the annual Elder Services check in. I updated her on how mom's cognitive decline continues to be slow but steady and changes to the care plan including how we ditched the dentures because they gagged her and the hearing aids too because they buzzed loudly and are an utter waste of time.

"What did you say?" mom interrupted then wandered away seeming to pay no mind to either of us. 

Other than the hearing loss, the worker was impressed with how well mom was doing at the age of 93 in her stage of dementia.

Then suddenly mom wandered back to the table. She stopped and looked at the woman, “You look just like my sister Denise.”

The worker was a slender pretty woman with olive skin probably in her late 30s. Her shoulder length soft brown curly hair had just a few wisps of gray that she didn’t try to hide. Even while I had only ever seen my aunt in aged black and white photos I could see what mom was talking about. My aunt was fairer than mom and had long ringlets of brown hair.

The woman smiled not knowing what to say until I explained that Denise was my mother’s twin who died of scarlet fever when they were 15-years-old.

What the worker didn’t realize was that Mom’s cognitive kaleidoscope had clicked another notch and produced a genealogical treasure for me, one more unique and special than revealing the name of her high school beau or songs she learned in grammar school.

The woman and I finished our paperwork. I stared at her across the table. A woman I hardly knew, a woman who visits once a year, a woman wearing the face of my middle aged aunt had she survived. 

What a gift.

19th Annual Wampanoag Ball: A fun time had by most

A week ago I was pretty excited to put on the new cat dress my daughter insisted I buy for the Wampanoag Ball. Not exactly satin and tulle but fun. I was a little afraid it might seem like I didn't take the dress code seriously but both the dress and the ball were perfect and I had an amazing time dancing with my husband who wore his tuxedo. Too bad the headlines didn't reflect what a great event it really was. I wrote the following response to set the record straight that appeared in the Cape Cod Times this morning.

~ ~ ~

Nineteen years ago with a small group of Wampanoag women I started the Mashpee Wampanoag Winter Ball with the intention of having an event that celebrated our pride in our heritage and honored our families and community friendships. It was an instant success. After 10 years on the ball committee I stepped aside to allow a new generation of party planners and fundraisers to manage the event, and they have done an outstanding job.

Those inside the ballroom at the Sea Crest Resort Hotel in North Falmouth on March 21 night enjoyed what I believed was the best Wampanoag Ball ever, and I have attended every one.

From our humble beginnings at the old Sons of Italy, where members of the ball committee shucked oysters in our fancy ball gowns, gave out our first set of awards, danced the night away to music spun by my disc jockey brother Robert Peters, this year’s event had the same original intent with a upscale flair.

The hall was beautifully decorated with floral and balloon arrangements. The food was plentiful and amazing. The ceremony opened with our traditional drummers who performed an honor song for our awardees. A live band shared the stage with my brother, who was back with new tunes and his classic closing rendition of Earth Wind and Fire’s “Brazilian Rhyme.”

How terribly unfortunate that a few bad actors had to steal the spotlight. There is no excuse for that.

The March 23 headline about the Mashpee Wampanoag should have been about money raised at the ball for a playground and a charity event at the Tribal Government Center, where a sold-out crowd was entertained by the Harlem Rockets and raised money to support our elders. Instead, the Page One story was about fights, an overcrowded elevator and four people arrested. I do not blame the media for that: I blame a lot of poor decisions and actions both on the part of those involved in the supposed “melee” and on an overzealous law enforcement response that was both insensitive and inflammatory.

After the last dance I exited the ballroom escorting my elderly neighbor, who happens to have multiple sclerosis, to meet my husband at the hotel entrance with the car. I could not help but notice a large police and security presence but didn’t see or hear any sign of a fracas. Instead of finding my husband and the car in front of the hotel I was met by about a dozen officers and security and found the otherwise easy flow of the pickup circle completely blocked with at least half a dozen police cars. The officers seemed to be milling about waiting for something to happen and had no interest in the obvious obstruction they had created to the drive-up circle function as an orderly exodus from the event. As a result I had to pace around in the cold and search for my husband with my elderly disabled neighbor for about 15 minutes while police ignored us. I’m sure all of this can be confirmed on the hotel security video. Finally, a member of the ball committee came to assist me and told me that there was a disturbance on the second floor among some who had rooms and that it had been made even more contentious with police who asked why the Wampanoag don’t have their events in Mashpee, the implication being we are unwelcome in Falmouth.

While even the hotel manager said the police response was overblown, police insensitivity to the large majority of attendees and provocative remarks to an already insurgent group on the second floor made matters worse. Police also complained that the majority of those trying to get to hotel rooms were intoxicated. It should not be lost on anyone that many got rooms because they knew they would be celebrating and wanted to avoid drinking and driving.

At the end of the day, the resulting stain on the Wampanoag Ball is undeserved. A lot of lessons are to be learned, not the least of which is that we as a tribal community need to determine who is responsible for bad behavior, hold them accountable and teach them the value of being respectful.

Ironically, I have the same advice for the responding law enforcement who ignored the needs of law-abiding and cooperative guests, unnecessarily encumbered those trying to leave, and made derogatory and inflammatory comments to an already angry and unruly group.

I personally look forward to the 20th Annual Wampanoag Ball next March at the Sea Crest Resort.

The Wonder of Rhiannon

Her name was stored in my back pocket for years before she was born. Like an old boyfriend's phone number on a scrap of paper, folded and creased to tatters, it was a preserved remnant of my teenage enlightenment years. Like so many other young women of my era inspired by Stevie Nicks I vowed that some day I would name my own daughter  Rhiannon. She would ring like a bell through the night. While my naïve expectation was that she would take to the sky like a bird in flight these days I ask myself - I ask my Creator - will she ever win?

As she closes in on a third year of chronic illness, today she will undergo major surgery that I hope and pray puts an end to her pain and suffering and enables her to spread her wings. Trust me, no one deserves it more.

Born tiny and struggling and fighting for every minute, Natalie Merchant’s Wonder is probably a more appropriate anthem for Rhiannon. Starting life at hardly three pounds Fate did smile on her, and Destiny visited her neonatal intensive care cradle laughing in the face of every medical prediction:

Know this child will be able

Laughed as my body she lifted

Know this child will be gifted

With love, with patience and with faith

She’ll make her way

Beyond surviving the first six months, I was told not to expect a lot of things other mom’s take for granted: walking, talking, intellect… boy were they wrong. She not only walked she ran, she not only talked she advocated, and she not only learns but she thinks and acts with a moral compass that puts most people to shame.

Rhiannon endured physical and occupational therapy, countless surgical procedures, and the kind of personal hardship that goes along with having a disability that made her invisible to most of her peers.

People see me

I’m a challenge to your balance

I’m over your heads

How I confound you and astound you

To know I must be one of the Wonders

Of God’s own creation

And as far as you can see you can offer me no explanation

That’s okay, she trumped them. Inducted into the National Honor Society, she ran cross-country like a champion even though she finished dead last at every meet. Joined the human rights club and took the anti-bullying bill to the Statehouse and gave eloquent testimony in favor of the right to be treated decently for the bill that is now law in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

That's right I'm the proud mother of Rhiannon. Today she is in the fight of her life and can use all your blessings, your prayers, your good wishes, your light. Who or what ever you believe will carry the day should be tapped on the shoulder and reminded that Rhiannon has had quite enough and deserves to win.

All your life you have never seen a woman

Taken by the wind

Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

Will you ever win?

Will you ever win?

*Update: Rhiannon came out of the surgery just before noon with a good but not perfect outcome. Knowing it could have been a lot worse leaves us grateful. Her road to recovery will require one more surgery in six weeks time. Please keep those well wishes and prayers going as she soldiers on.